drops of gold

It only lasted about 45 minutes. We almost didn’t go—the clock was ticking and we didn’t really decide until we were almost out of the city. The drive was magical, all meandering roads and skyward-reaching  trees. And then we got there, and it was sunny and crisp and full of fall. We set off from the parking lot, noting with some alarm the tractors that had leveled some favorite trees and meadow. We crossed the field, under the ski lift, to the stand of aspen where we took a now iconic photo from our early dating days. The same log is even there. 

Once we got to our spot, the boys took off, immediately finding giant sticks to tote around, clambering over fallen logs, a carpet of Golden leaves underfoot. Even the dog was excited: ears perked and nose to the ground or in the air, prancing through the forest foliage as she took in so many smells.

And the baby! Oh, she was in heaven. We gently sat her on the plush carpet and she squealed with delight, grabbing the trees’ shed bounty and delicately testing their flavor in her mouth. She kicked her legs in and out, her own signature expression of joy.

It was perfect. I felt a familiar bit of frenzy as I tried to decide what to do—take pictures or simply observe? I did both. I tried my best to capture the magic I felt, and then I would pause and use as many senses as I could to remember it even better: the rustle of leaves, laughter and battle cries, the scent of sharp pine, warm dirt, woodsy and fresh, the feeling of the crisp breeze, warm sun, smooth bark. I even handed off the camera so they’d remember that I was there, with them. It felt so right, nurturing my baby as I, too, drank eagerly from the beauty of Mother Earth, her sustenance every bit as life-giving as my own.

Too soon, it was time to head back. We all dragged a bit as we climbed back to parking lot. But it was enough, our time on the mountain. It was a gift that I will treasure for as long as I can.